The parable of the general and his daughter

There was a general, long ago, far away, who had earned the trust and the respect of his emperor. The general was swift, merciless and above all competent, and thus he amassed both wealth and loyalty from the soldiers he commanded. He lived well and deserved every accolade that came his way.

The general had a daughter, whom he doted upon. She was raised to be a beautiful, skilled and well-spoken young woman, and she was the greatest accomplishment of his life. His riches, his career, the men who fought for him, they were nothing compared to his child. She, like him, became quite well-known, and from far away people spoke of the distant town beauty with the delicate fingers and the soft voice. Her father doted, but he was strict, and she would not stray from the traditions imposed upon her.

And so came the day, just an ordinary day, that the general’s daughter disappeared. Plucked, it would seem, from the marbled room where he had left her at her loom. He searched far and wide, spared no effort, but she was nowhere to be found in the town, or in the next, or in the next, or in the whole country. Some thought that she had ran off with a lyre-playing boy, others that she had followed a band of merchants heading north. But they were wrong, and the girl had been smuggled out by a traitor, who delivered her to a nearby country. It took the general months, but finally the traitor was exposed and made to confess. Exposed, extracted, executed. Short work, and the general went to his emperor to plead his case. The emperor was both practical and reasonable, and he saw the problem at hand. The girl herself might not be too important, but diplomacy was. He agreed to let the general go to the king who now had the girl in his possession.

Negotiations began. The king himself had not bought the girl, but his son had. The young man was rude and unpleasant, and he would not see reason. At first his father, the king, attempted to sway the general with logic. My son could not know she was stolen, he said. We acted in good faith, and he paid a big sum. You will have to pay to get her back. This was the best solution, he thought, as it would get the girl back to her family but allow the kingdom to save face. The general, however, thought it an outrage. He would not pay to get his rightful property back. And the matter was rendered void anyway, as the unpleasant young prince refused to cooperate. You can only buy what is for sale, he said, and she is not. I like her.

And so it went. Negotiations stretched over days, then weeks, then months. The blistering sun terrorized the soldiers that had come along, and their supplies were running out. His daughter was present, and at the same time not. She was kept behind a screen, sitting quietly. But it was her, the general knew so. He saw the silhouette of her curls, her slender neck, her high brow. The king’s son was adamant that the girl stay in his palace, but his father was wiser and tried to soften the blow, and as time went by, the offers became more and more generous. She will be a queen here, the king said. If my son likes her so much, they shall marry. She will stay here, but she will be honoured and respected. Her children shall be royalty and her first son will be a king.

The emperor had tired of the endless arguing, and thought the offer tempting. When the general returned home to tell him of the developments and ask for more reinforcements, the emperor had run out of patience. Take the deal, he said. It’s more than a general’s daughter could ever hope for, no matter her woolwork. But the general refused. Offer him another girl, he told the emperor. Let him have his pick, there are thousands of beautiful women with lilting voices in the land.

No, the emperor said. Why would any other father agree to give his child up? I would only have to do this all over again with another cheated man. You will not get a better option. Take your men home. The general stayed quiet, and made a promise to himself that the emperor would not die from old age.

He went back to the kingdom, withdrew his men, and returned home. Years passed, and he was not idle. Wealth and loyalty was nothing in comparison to his child, but it was invaluable in the matter of getting her back. He bribed, he threatened, he blackmailed, and three years after he had made his promise, the emperor was dead. Now free to pursue his goal unfettered, he amassed the nation’s army and turned back to the newly made enemy kingdom. No one was spared his wrath. As far as the general was concerned, every single man, woman and child was complicit in the theft of his daughter, and they would all suffer the penalty. The enemy army was not prepared for his arrival, and the lucky few who could escape did. The towns were set aflame, and in the water you saw only red-hot devastation. It was worth it, it was all worth it. He had warned them, after all. He would accept no bargain.

The general and his army advanced steadily to the capital, and the palace was within reach. He didn’t care about casualties on either side, as the enemy by this point had made a brave effort to resist the attack. His men died, and so did the enemy soldiers. But he was winning, his numbers were larger and his approach more ferocious. Three years he had waited, three years he had not even seen her behind a screen. Was she made queen, or forgotten somewhere in another marbled hall? Was she a mother? She was not to be, he decided. She was as he remembered her, with her deft hands. And it was this vision of her that he kept in his mind, in his heart, as he reached the palace doors. Servants were slaughtered, frozen in their spots. The king and his son had not left the palace, he knew that, because every exit from the city was closely guarded. But they were nowhere to be found. He went on ahead, alone, throwing doors open as he went. Lavish room upon lavish room, dining halls, grand baths, servants’ quarters. And then, royal chambers. One by one by one he opened, calling her name, but every room he invaded was empty.